Bad Liar
by mahlia
Summary: Dick said it himself- Tim would be fine without the Robin mantle. And if you tell yourself something often enough, it eventually has to come true, then, right? Based on the events in Red Robin, but that's not a category you can choose here.


This is inspired by the song _Bad Liar_ by Imagine Dragons, and some of the lyrics are sprinkled in this. I guess you could call it a songfic, then. It's an bit of an AU take on the events of the Red Robin series, beginning after Tim found out Dick replaced him as Robin with Damian.

* * *

_Oh, hush, my dear, it's been a difficult year  
And terrors don't prey on innocent victims  
Trust me, darlin', trust me darlin'_

* * *

Tim sat in his car, vision blurring as he stared at the steering wheel. His fingers gripped the key in the ignition tightly, and even though his brain screamed at his hand to turn the engine over, his hand wouldn't comply. He was numb and still processing what happened in the cave not ten minutes prior.

"_He's my responsibility now. You're not my protege, Tim… You're my equal. My closest ally. You'll be okay."_

No, Tim thought. I'm not sure I will be.

Rain pelted against the windshield and he shivered; he was soaked. He should have run from the front door of the Manor, not walked. Apparently, the only speed he had at the moment was that of a tortoise walking backward uphill.

He shook his head to get his hair out of his eyes, scattering water droplets across the front seat, and managed to turn the key in the ignition. The vents whooshed as warm air began to circulate. He waited for the fog on the windshield to disappear before shifting into reverse, and just as he let up on the brake, a loud knock on the window to his left startled him. Slamming the gearshift back into neutral, he turned. Alfred stood there, his hands wrapped around a large, black umbrella that barely shielded him from the torrential rain. He said something Tim couldn't hear, but he could reasonably guess what it was.

Tim rolled the window down and slumped against his seat. He wasn't ready for another confrontation; he was barely holding it together as it was.

"Master Tim, where are you going?" His voice was tinged with worry as he took in the wet hair plastered across Tim's forehead, his wounded expression and the broken stare as he avoided Alfred's concerned gaze.

"He replaced me, Alfred. With Damian. All because I believe Bruce is still alive."

Alfred pursed his lips and unwrapped one hand from the umbrella, resting it on the car door. He wisely avoided contradicting Tim, instead choosing to try and talk him down.

"My boy, you're in no condition to drive in such a storm. You're exhausted and in need of a good night's rest. Come back inside and we can talk more about it in the morning."

Tim looked up and stared through the windshield at the front door. It was open and Dick stood there, arms crossed against the chill in the air. He couldn't tell if Dick was worried or not, but he didn't care at the moment. And he didn't have to look at Alfred to know how he felt.

"You don't believe me, either."

Alfred leaned in further and tried to squeeze Tim's shoulder.

"Master Tim, he's gone. You should accept that. We can help, just come inside."

Tim jerked his shoulder away and Alfred pulled his hand back.

"No. I won't accept it. I can't."

He began rolling the window up, pausing long enough to allow Alfred one last chance to change his mind.

"Timothy, please. You aren't alright- none of us are. Don't leave now. We need to stick together."

"You don't need me. I'm better off doing this alone."

He took the risk and looked up at Alfred one last time, smiling as brightly as he could manage. But even he knew it didn't reach his eyes.

"Dick said so himself. I'll be fine."

As the window closed and Tim shifted into reverse once again, Alfred stepped back and watched him drive away until the taillights disappeared into the darkness.

Much like Bruce, Timothy was a terrible liar.

* * *

_It's been a loveless year  
I'm a man of three fears  
Integrity, faith and crocodile tears  
Trust me, darlin', trust me, darlin'_

* * *

Tim stopped by his apartment one last time to pick up a few things. The moment he unlocked the door, he smelled Stephanie's perfume. He kicked the door closed behind him and sighed. At least it wasn't Dick.

She was sitting at his kitchen table reading a textbook, half the contents of her backpack neatly arranged on the table next to her notebook. She took a sip of coffee and turned the page.

"You're a hard man to get a hold of."

Tim hesitated in the doorway. He wasn't in the mood for another confrontation or to hear yet another person who claimed to care about Bruce deny he was still alive. Before he could turn and head toward his bedroom, she continued talking, her eyes still not leaving the page in front of her.

"Don't worry. I didn't take it personally. But I'm a little hurt you'd lump me in with the rest of them, though."

He bit the inside of his cheek. She had a point, but he also knew when he was being baited. She needed some answers and he wasn't going to be the one to give them to her.

"When you're finished with your homework, I'd appreciate it if you slid the key under the door when you leave. You're butting in where you don't belong."

The pen she was twirling in one hand went flying and hit the floor when she turned to look at him.

"You can't be serious."

Tim said nothing and pushed off the door frame. She snapped the cover of her book shut and went after him. When she caught up with him, he was kneeling in his closet, rummaging through a compartment concealed beneath the false floor. Steph frowned and wandered into his room. She straightened his duvet and sat down.

"What's going on with you? Everyone's trying to get a hold of you and you're ignoring us. We're worried. _I'm_ worried."

A black case appeared from the compartment and he set it next to him, shoving some dirty clothes out of the way.

"You're here because Dick asked you to check on me. I can't remember the last time you dropped by to study." He picked up the case and headed back out into the hallway. She followed him to the entry way.

"I've been here three times since Bruce died, Tim. You're the one who hasn't been around," she said, loud enough for him to hear, but not loud enough to sound angry.

He was tugging a suitcase from the back of the closet and froze.

"He's not dead, Steph."

She approached carefully, like a zookeeper trying to wrangle a wounded animal. She knew if she wasn't careful, she'd lose her chance to find out what was really going on.

"Then lay it out for me. Show me what you have, show me something to back you up. I'm on your side. Always have been, you know that."

He gently shut the closet door before turning to look at her, pain and disappointment darkening his eyes to a stormy blue.

"If you were on my side, you wouldn't be asking for proof."

"Tim, please. I'm genuinely worried. You're obsessed with something that isn't possible."

He shrugged and zipped his jacket. When he looked at her again, his eyes were void of any expression whatsoever.

"All the better for me to do this by myself."

"Do what, Tim?"

He looked down for a moment before a sad smile appeared on his face.

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

Before her brain could process what she heard versus what she actually believed, the door closed and Tim was gone.

Who was he trying to fool? Everyone else? Or himself?

* * *

_So look me in the eyes, tell me what you see  
Perfect paradise, tearin' at the seams  
I wish I could escape, I don't wanna fake it  
Wish I could erase it, make your heart believe_

* * *

Tim watched as Pru walked ahead to wait at the bus stop around the corner while he went to get coffee. They had almost half an hour until their mark was due to arrive, and Tim desperately needed something to get him moving. They followed this guy all over the Middle East until they finally caught up with him the day before.

While doing recon work the night before, he noticed an older gentleman who operated a coffee stand just across the street from the hotel. He sidestepped a discarded paper bag full of cigarette butts as he crossed the street, rushing to avoid being run over by a beat-up blue Ford Ranger. The gust of wind tossed a cloud of dust into the air and he stopped for a moment until it cleared.

He greeted the man in near-flawless Arabic and asked for a black coffee to go. His eyes crinkled when he smiled at Tim, nodding in appreciation of a tourist speaking the language. Tim stepped to the side while he waited, watching the markets open down the street. It was still early, but it was already hot and only going to get hotter, so people rushed to set up in the spots that had any bit of shade they could find.

"In town for work?" the man asked, filling Tim's cup nearly to the brim. He noticed the haunted look in the young man's eyes and was taken aback. It was a look he usually only saw in the battle-worn eyes of men his age, not people this young.

"Yes. Only for today, I'm afraid. If all goes well, I leave tonight."

Tim took the cup and tasted it, wincing when it burned the tip of his tongue. He knew the man was watching him but chose to ignore it.

"How much do I owe you?"

He shrugged one shoulder and leaned against the counter.

"Let's call it a trade. The coffee is free if you answer one question."

Tim quirked an eyebrow and stepped closer to the counter.

"What question would that be?"

They made eye contact for a brief moment before Tim glanced over his shoulder to see Pru glaring at him from down the street. When he turned back to the shop keeper, he was staring at Tim with an intensity that was almost unnerving.

"Such a young man, you are. Why is someone like you carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders? I can see it in your eyes."

His question was an honest one and judging by his tone, he meant no disrespect. Tim sipped his coffee and stared into the cup for a moment. He smiled softly and looked up at the shopkeeper again.

"It's been a difficult year for me, but it should all be over soon."

He looked at Tim, deciding the answer was the best he would get. This young man seemed to be at peace with whatever his journey had in store for him. The shopkeeper smiled and nodded graciously.

"Alright."

Tim held up his cup and thanked him for the coffee, leaving a crumpled wad of bills on the counter before turning and walking away.

As he watched the young man join the woman with no hair down the block, he couldn't help but shiver. Something about their brief conversation felt heavy. Final. Not because he was leaving, and they wouldn't see each other again. No, it was more like that young man was going off to war and didn't believe he would come back.

* * *

_Did all my dreams never mean one thing?  
Does happiness lie in a diamond ring?  
Oh, I've been askin' for  
Oh, I've been askin' for problems, problems, problems_

* * *

The elevator dinged and its doors opened, pale light spilling out into the darkened corridor. His room was only four doors down on the right, but it may as well have been eight blocks away. Running on autopilot, he brought one hand up to put gentle pressure over the bandage on his abdomen and used the other to lug his bag down the hall. He was beyond exhausted.

Only a few days had passed since he woke up after being stabbed and left for dead, but it felt more like a year. He was running himself ragged, between the plot to bring down both the Council of Spiders and the League of Assassins and trying to track down any sign of Bruce. Eventually he had to find something. There was no way he could keep this up long term.

He stopped in front of his door and dug around in his pocket for his room key, yawning so hard he felt a twinge in his jaw. All he needed was a good night's sleep. Just one. Once he got some rest, things wouldn't look so…

Hopeless.

The door closed behind him and he immediately let go of the suitcase, making his way to the bed. Both his bandages and another dose of antibiotic could wait until morning, so he shrugged out of his jacket and carefully crawled onto the bed. Rolling onto his side and facing the window, he glanced out at the lights of Budapest in the near distance. It was after midnight and the city was just beginning to wind down for the night.

He thought back on the events of the last few weeks. Each task he finished, every person he helped, all the inroads he made by having access to Ra's computer systems- it should all make him feel better. It should make him happy. So why didn't it? Why did he still feel so empty, so ineffective?

_Because Bruce isn't here to tell you you're on the right track._

_He isn't here to back you up._

_He isn't here to confirm what you're doing is right._

A sharp twinge tugged at his incision, the muscles in his abdomen reminding him he may not need antibiotics, but he could certainly use some pain medication. Gingerly, he slid to the edge of the bed and sat up, using his abdominal muscles as little as possible. The medication was in his jacket pocket; he only needed a glass of water.

He stood at the sink in the bathroom and waited until the water ran cool. The shadows beneath his eyes were deep and his cheekbones were more prominent than usual. His hair was longer than he was used to, and his skin was like alabaster. A shadow of Tim Drake stared back at him and he shuddered.

The water finally ran cold and he filled his glass, downing it in one go before filling it again. All he needed was sleep. He hadn't slept well in so long, since this whole debacle began, and he knew the reason he was feeling so hopeless was because he was overtired.

Well, overtired, running a few pints low, and now missing a spleen. But whatever.

His mother always told him things always looked better in the morning. And even though she was usually wrong, the mornings he woke up at home rarely looked any better than the nights before, this could be a situation where she was right. After all- a broken clock is accurate twice a day, right?

He looked at himself one more time in the mirror and nodded at his reflection.

Things would be better in the morning.

He pretended he didn't notice his lack of conviction.

* * *

_I wage my war, on the world inside  
I take my gun to the enemy's side  
Oh, I've been askin' for (trust me, darlin')  
Oh, I've been askin' for (trust me, darlin') problems, problems, problems_

* * *

Tam poked her head into Tim's office and smiled. He was hunched over his desk, a shock of black hair hanging over his eyes as he went over paperwork. A small frown began to crease his forehead and she decided to interrupt.

"Tim? You still free for lunch?"

He glanced up at her, a smile easing its way across his face. His highlighter dropped to the desk and he flexed his fingers before closing the folder.

"Of course! Great timing. My hands were starting to cramp."

She waited patiently while he grabbed his phone, lunch and jacket, noticing a photo on the bookcase behind his desk. From what she could tell, he and Bruce were playing chess. Both were deep in thought and seemingly unaware of the camera. A wave of sadness washed over her and she struggled to hide it before Tim had the chance to pick up on it.

"What were you working on?"

Tim shrugged into his jacket and shook his head, grinning.

"A proposal from Lex Corp. The highlighted parts are the ethical, legal and financial concerns we have."

Tam stepped back to allow Tim a chance to lock up his office.

"Where to?" he asked. "The plaza should be clear by now, since it's a little later than usual."

"Sounds great!"

They made their way out into the sunshine, choosing a table away from prying eyes and curious ears.

"So," Tim asked, pulling out a sandwich from his bag. "How have you been? Is therapy going okay?"

She nodded and sipped on her water, picking at her salad.

"Yeah, I think so. The nightmares are less frequent, and they aren't so bad anymore." She looked at him, biting her bottom lip. "How are you, Tim? We haven't had a ton of time to catch up since we got back."

Tim put his sandwich down and shrugged.

"I'm good. I've been so busy that I haven't had much time to sit and think about it much."

Tam couldn't fight the urge and leaned forward, taking his hand and squeezing.

"You aren't fazed by any of that? You almost bled to death out in the desert, you fought all kinds of crazy assassins, and on top of all of that, you lost Bruce."

Tim's expression darkened and he gently pulled his arm away.

"I'm- I'm sorry. I know that's a sore subject. I shouldn't have said anything." She reached for his hand once more and he let her.

"I just want to make sure you're okay, Tim. In case you haven't noticed? You're kind of important to me."

She left her hands splayed out on the table, considering it a success when Tim didn't retreat any further. Friend or otherwise, she wanted to help him. She just didn't know how. His posture relaxed once again and he rested his hands on hers.

"I'm fine, Tam. Really. Just still a bit of a tender spot, you know?"

She nodded, sensing the end of the conversation about how he was doing. She knew she wouldn't get a straight answer. Even though he swore he was fine, she knew better. Behind those gorgeous blue eyes, his genius intellect and dorky sense of humor, he wasn't okay.

He was the saddest person she had ever met.

And a bad liar.

* * *

_So look me in the eyes, tell me what you see  
Perfect paradise, tearin' at the seams  
I wish I could escape, I don't wanna fake it  
Wish I could erase it, make your heart believe_

_But I'm a bad liar, bad liar  
Now you know, now you know  
That I'm a bad liar, bad liar  
Now you know, you're free to go_


End file.
